Dear Diary: Troy
by mars.x
Summary: Who knew East High's Golden Boy had a diary. My response to Saawariya's Dear Diary Challenge.


**A/N**: This is a response to Saawariya's Dear Diary challenge. I had this written for, like, almost three weeks now. I just never got around to putting it up, I'm lazy like that. Oh and as hard as I tired, I couldn't not include Troyella-ness in it. It's all I know, I think I need to go to Troyella Anonymous or something. And it's AU and out of character, I guess. This challenge proved to be difficult for me. Hope you enjoy. Sorry for the long paragraphs and errors in spelling and grammar. A review would be great :)

**Disclaimer**: As much as I wish I did, I don't own High School Musical or it's characters. So tragic. -sighs-

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**FIRST DAY OF SENIOR YEAR**.

Dear Diary,

Just for the record, I'm only keeping you for the sake of putting a smile on my mother's face. I mean, guys do basketball, football, basically sports, but guys don't do diaries! It's a unwritten rule. I can picture all of East High red in the face laughing once they find out about you. I don't think I'll ever live it down, so that is why you will forever remain hidden in the comforts of my underwear drawer. It's the one place Chad, my nosy bestfriend and probably the nosiest person to walk the earth, would never look. He told me so himself. Apparently the thought of going through my third drawer makes him want to jump off a ten story building. I can't disagree with him. I'd rather be found face flat, surrounded by my own pool of blood, than go through his drawer.

Anyway, Senior Year officially started today and I've always hated the first day of school. This year, however, was different. I didn't hate it. It was quite the opposite of hate, in fact. I don't know if it was the great burn free breakfast my mother, who is known to burn something while cooking, cooked or that gorgeous angel that knocked me off of my feet, literally. I'd say the latter. Goodness, I'm blushing. More about said angel later on. The day started off with the usual greeting from the whole basketball team. I wasn't the least bit surprised because it happened every single day of every single year; whether it was getting off of the bus or my father's car. I greeted them all half-heartedly, trying to decide what the hell happened to Chad over the summer because he was stood in front of me, with his hair tied back.

Walking down the hall was no different. I still got those longing glances from cheerleaders and seductive looks from girls on the dance team. This would have brighten my mood if it wasn't for the fact that I was not at all attracted to one of them. The scariest part of it was when Sharpay appeared out of nowhere fluttering her eye lashes at me. This isn't me saying she's ugly or anything, she's actually quite the opposite, it's just the fact that she pops out of nowhere at random times is what scares me. Just like the basketball team, she greeted me with the same line she has done for the past three years, 'Hey Troy. I missed you this summer.' All I could do was smile and turn away. I don't think Zeke has hated me more than that moment. Note to self, hook those two up. Immediately.

After the short encounter with the Ice Queen, I headed off to the gym to practice. I dribbled and shot the ball for ten minutes before deciding I wanted to be late for class. As if being Jack Bolton's son wasn't enough, I'm sure my tardiness would cause her to loose her cool and go over the edge. Since the halls were empty there wasn't any need for me to look up. So me being me, kept my head down while I whistled. I've been in the halls and Ms. Darbus' homeroom long enough to know where it is, even in my sleep. So when I found myself colliding into a petite body and then two seconds later sprawled on the floor, I was in utter shock. Who in the hell would get in thee Troy Bolton's, East High's Golden Boy, way? My thoughts, however, were cut short because not a split second later the same petite body landed on mine, followed shortly by a groan.

I would have pushed her away and shouted at her hadn't it been for her angelic face. Cue the angel's music. Her cinnamon eyes were big and alluring, I couldn't look away. The blush that crept onto her face got me grinning and looking like an idiot. She pushed herself off of me and straightened out her clothes before shyly offering her hand to me. Just to humor her, I let her pulling me up. Surprisingly, her over all look deceived her strength. Around us were books that I've never seen, let alone, would pick up. Almost instantly I knew she was under the category of 'nerd'. But for the first time, I didn't care. I read somewhere that one shouldn't judge a book by it's cover and that's exactly what I did. No more judging, just an invite to sit at my table at lunch.

At lost of words, I stood there looking more idiotic than I thought possible. She introduced herself and I did the same. I was besides myself with glee when I found out she was in my homeroom and one other class, Art. I was hoping we'd have all of our classes together, but that's just impossible. She had AP classes and I was nowhere near that level. Stupid basketball brain. I ushered her to class and she sat in the far back next to my hilariously-not-all-there friend Jason. Life on the basketball team without him would be dull.

The rest of the day went by in a blur, except for the class I had with the brown haired angel. I paid no attention in any of my classes knowing there was at least one cheerleader I could get my notes from, they can't resist my charm. Or my 'Bolton smile', as they call it, either. At lunch I waved the angel over to our table much to Chad's dismay, as well as Sharpay's; who I saw gripping the rail of the second floor painfully tight. Her knuckles were turning white! Lunch was pretty comfortable, if you didn't include Chad's deathly glares and Jason's jaw hanging open. I'm assuming it was out of shock, but with him, you just never know.

After lunch I had walked her to class before heading off to the gym. It was my free period and what better way than to spend it practicing. A bunch of cheerleaders greeted me suggestively, damping my mood. Adding to that, Chad followed me there. It slipped my mind, that fact that we had the same free period. He kept drilling me about the girl and, like at lunch, I had ignored him. Stupid boy. There are other things he should be fussing about, like trying to figure out a way to get Taylor to fall head over heels for him. Of course, he'd never admit to having a crush on her. Chad didn't work that way. Instead, he'll insist that it was the other way around.

I didn't see her the rest of the school day which sucked. But knowing that I had the rest of the school year to be around her put a reassuring smile on my face. Tomorrow will be a good day, I'll get to see Gabriella again and learn more about this angel. Unfortunately, that smile, vanished as my father approached me. He wasn't too happy, apparently I was meant to practice for a least two more hours before heading home. I love him and all, but what is wrong with this man and his obsession with basketball? I think Chad is more suited to be his son than I am because all that is in Chad's head, for majority of the time, is basketball and Taylor. Their love for the game is unhealthy and, to be honest, scary.

When I got home, my mother asked how my day had gone and I recapped the day's events leaving out the girl who had knocked me off my feet. Had I not done so, I have a feeling that at this moment, I'd still be down there listening to my mother chatter away. Oh a disturbing fact, my mother's beginning to rethink my sexuality. You see, I've never brought a girl home, ever, or spoken to her about any girls that I've hooked up with. Can you believe her? If only she knew what I've done over the summer. She'd have me locked up and shipped of to an all boys boarding school. Speaking of the devil, just kidding, she's shouting for me to head down stairs. It's dinner time and I've just realized that I haven't ate since lunch.

Lov...what in the world am I doing?  
Later,

Troy.


End file.
